No Laughing Matter!
by Suziella
Summary: A series of funny one-shots in inappropriate contexts of our favorite duo! Still kinda new at this guys but do hope you enjoy! Reviews are greatly welcomed! Oh, and I can guarantee Johnlock fluffs in some one-shots too ;)
1. Chapter 1

**No Laughing Matter!**

John leaned his back against the kitchen counter, waiting patiently for the water to come to a boil to make, of course, some tea. His arms were comfortably crossed and eyes resting shut when he heard one of the rarest sounds in his life: Sherlock laughing.

Slowly opening his eyes, John held a slight frown, for if Sherlock was laughing, it'd have to be at something highly disturbing.

Popping his head into the living room, John found Sherlock sitting in the middle, on the floor, of all his science equipment.

_Strange, _John thought, _He usually conducts his experiments on the kitchen table._

But then John smiled, for in this very moment, cackling with glinted eyes, Sherlock couldn't have looked any more like an eager little boy, laughing in glee at his little discoveries. John briefly mused that it was easy to now see the kind of slightly manic sociopath of a boy Sherlock would have seemed to be to outsiders- from his safety goggles and gloves, to the Bunsen burner and flasks littered around him, and mostly to the mannerism in which he was laughing; his hand held up to cover his mouth, his eyes squeezed shut, and the way his lean frame was shaking and slightly rocking backward and forwards.

"Sherlock…" John began, stepping into the living room, right side of his mouth curling into a small unsure smile, "What's so funny?" John could see Sherlock trying to speak, waving his hands around in wild gestures – but to no avail. He just couldn't breath out a single word, let alone sentence, from all the laughter.

_Oh God he's hysterical._

Looking around with a now confused look on his face, John tried to find the source of Sherlock's laughter, but really there's nothing at all that humorous… or disturbing, thankfully.

_Maybe it's something from his Mind Palace._

But even that was unlikely.

By this time, Sherlock was literally rolling around on the floor, practically crawling away from his experiment. However, laughter, now easing, was still racking out from his large frame. After a few minutes, and a few goes at speech, Sherlock's baritone voice was finally seeping through the laughs.

"John! Hahahaha! Do you not see?! Hahahahahha! Its laughing gas! Hahahaha! I've inhaled laughing gas!"

John just cracked a smile in response. _Now THAT was funny. Sherlock getting played by his own experiment. He must be hopping mad! _Suddenly he found his smile turning into a wide grin and his chest started rumbling to his own laughter. All the while, Sherlock was watching him from his spot on the floor, laughter dying away and eyes narrowing angrily at John.

"John... John. It's _not _funny... JOHN!"

But John was already in hysterics – the fumes must of caught up with him too- because once he found himself laughing, he was unable to stop! Now doubled over, John couldn't speak, only managing to point at Sherlock accusingly and shake his head from side to side, with tears of laughter coming down his cheeks.

Still chuckling, Sherlock's piercing blue eyes looked ready to kill him

"John! Stop laughing immediately!" Suddenly a flash of understanding crossed Sherlock's expression. "…Oh no! John! You've inhaled the gas!"

Sherlock still his helpless state of laughter, attempted to stand up, reaching out towards John. But the laughter made Sherlock clumsy in his movements, and in a hilarious moment, Sherlock all too slowly, with a look of complete and utter shock and devastation, found his feet tangled in his robe just as he attempts to lunge towards John, and with arms flailing about, trips and lands directly into his experiment.

As if John didn't need anymore spurring on! At the hilarious and once-in-a-lifetime sight, John roared out in laughter, unable to hold himself up, instead lying face-down on the floor, thumping his right fist to the ground in his fit of frenzy.

Thankfully, for Sherlock, his head had just missed the still-alight Bunsen burner and his only injury would be a few cuts. However, Sherlock had just breathed in more of the laughing gas and was as furious as ever. But even his own startling fury couldn't withhold his now bellowing laughter. But seeing John _laughing at him…!_

"John! Hahahahhhaha! You really… hahahah…should stop laughing…. Hahahahaha… now….!" *Sherlock gasping for air* "the fumes are … hahahahha… out of your system… ahahhahhaha… John! … JoHN! JAWN! HAHAHAHAHA JAWWWWNNNN! IT'S NOT FUNNY! HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHHAA! MY LUSCIOUS CURLS WERE ALMOST BURNT TO ASHES! HAHAHAHA! JAWWWNNNNNN!"

But John just couldn't contain himself in his uncontrollable fit of laughter, and Sherlock was right, it wasn't the laughing gas anymore. Now lying on his back, covering his face with his hands, John tried to stifle his giggles not wanting to provoke Sherlock further from his delirious rage. But the memory of the infuriating know-it-all falling flat on his face kept replying in his head. _What a sight to see!_

"JAWWNN! YOU MADDENING HEDGEHOG! HAHAHAHAHHA IT REALLY IS NOT HAHAHAHAHA FUNNY! TOO MUCH LAUGHING GAS CAN KILL ME! HAHAHAHAHHHHAHA!"

John immediately stilled. _Oh, shit. _Laughter now gone, John lifted himself to a stand.

"Right. Not funny. Better get you out of there then!"

Holding his breath, John quickly made his way over to Sherlock. Lifting the laughing but clearly enraged man by the arms, John dragged Sherlock out of the living room into the kitchen. Opening the window above the sink, John, gently grasping his curls, stuck Sherlock's head out the window for some fresh air.

Deeply inhaling London's air into his lungs, Sherlock's laughs once again died down, his shaking body coming to a still. As Sherlock seemed to quiet down and come to himself, John slowly untangled his hand from his curls, and took a step back, allowing the detective some space. He then proceeded to fill up a glass of water, offering it to Sherlock.

"Here, drink. Doctor's orders"

Cautiously bringing his head back inside, Sherlock accepted the glass and took a few sips.

After a moment, "Are you okay, Sherlock?" The doctor asked, clearly concerned, taking the glass back and setting it down on the counter.

Sherlock straightened himself, trying to look as dignified as possible – mind you being in his sleepwear and robe and all - and coolly replied, 'Just fine, thank you. Though please refrain from retelling the events of today. I'd like to keep my reputation intact.'

John, now amused, slightly raised his eyebrows. "Not likely"

Sherlock shot him an incredulous look. "What?!"

Pouring some tea, John yet again found himself grinning at the image of Sherlock falling over. The hilarity of the moment was too much to keep to himself.

"John?!"

"No promises, Sherlock. Tea?"

Sherlock let out a huff. "Yes. Fine"

Handing him a cup of tea, John paused. "Why did you call me a hedgehog?"

Taking the hot cup, Sherlock smirked, "Why John, didn't anyone ever mention you look just like one? The resemblance is uncanny."

And with that, he strolled right back to the living room, leaving John with his all-too familiar look of utter confusion.


	2. Tedious Tasks

**Just wanted to say thanks to all who've read and reviewed the previous chapter, nothing makes me happier than to put a smile on someone's face **** As a first-time story writer, nothing makes me more happy than to receive reviews telling me I've done well, so thanks heaps!**

**P.S. ****Just thought I should add that there is a particular scene in this one-shot that is somewhat derived from another movie: Twilight. Don't judge! I'm not really a fan of it but I couldn't pass up the opportunity to use the line it was way too funny! **

**Enjoy x**

**Tedious Tasks**

Changing the sheets is no easy feat! Well, at least for Sherlock, that is. There couldn't be anything more infuriating in the world for Sherlock than to change one's own bed linen; so inevitably, the galling task was left to Mrs. Hudson. Despite claiming that she's not his "housekeeper!" she was sure to freshen his bed sheets, as well as John's, every two weeks.

After living in Baker Street for almost two years, Sherlock took 's domestic administrations as a norm – heck he never actually thought about it. Why should he? He's Sherlock Holmes! A well-known mastermind to figure out even the cleverest of criminal cases. So really, he had no reason to dwell about dull house-keeping activities.

Until the day Mrs. Hudson had to go away for a few months. She blabbered to Sherlock and John about some family business, but Sherlock couldn't have cared less. Sherlock wasn't bothered by 's absence, rather, he welcomed it.

For a month Sherlock was undisturbed when conducting his experiments, figuring out cases and even the occasional shooting to the wall – well, undisturbed besides John's bewildered shouts, "What the _bloody hell_ do you think you're doing?!" To which he would typically reply, "BORED!"

Other than that, things were pretty much the same. John, however, reluctantly took it as his duty to do a bit of housecleaning here and there, grumbling about how "the curly haired sod was too lazy to lift a finger around the house, but when it came to cases, he ran around as though his had bloody ants up his arse" Sherlock, always hearing these grumbles, would simply smirk to himself.

But the day eventually came. The day when Sherlock realised he was in deep shit as far as his unclean sheets went. At the end of the first month of Mrs. Hudson's absence, Sherlock woke one morning to realise his bed sheets slightly smelt, despite hardly sleeping in them. After a moment of confusion, Sherlock put two and two together, and groaned in dismay. He didn't like this. Not one bit.

Later that morning, Sherlock was typing away at his laptop, researching something in relation to one of his experiments. John had made them their customary tea, and he set Sherlock's tea beside him on the desk. Sherlock didn't tear his gaze away from the screen.

"Change my bed sheets, will you John?" he asked in his monotone – I'm-actually-in-my-mind-palace- voice.

Taken back, with an incredulous look on his face, John looked around the room, as though searching for the punch line. When there was none, the look of surprised morphed into an annoyed frown.

"Um. No, Sherlock. You can do that yourself. Princess," he mumbled the last part under his breath, but it didn't prevent Sherlock from abruptly turning in his seat, staring up at John, mouth agape and light-blue eyes wide.

"_I heard that!'_

John smirked "And? What are you going to do about it? Definitely not try to prove me wrong, that's for sure"

Sherlock shut his mouth. Pondering. He was far too clever for reverse psychology, but too desperate to be a smartarse. Sherlock's eyes flittered around, trying to find a way to convince John, while the man himself simply watched him, amused.

However, in a flash, the amused expression became bemused to flat-out terrified in response to Sherlock's next move.

"Pleeaaasseeeeee!" Sherlock wailed, dropping to his knees, grasping John's shirt, staring up with pleading eyes.

_This random-ass man will be the death of me._

"No, Sherlock! Stop that!" John exclaimed, embarrassed, trying to shove Sherlock away.

Sherlock fought back, clinging to John like his life depended on it.

"No! John, please! meow"

"What the actual fuck Sherlock?!"

"John you cannot do this to me! You can't possibly make me do anything so tedious in my life!"

"Sherlock, do you actually prefer acting like a raging lunatic to changing your own shee-" John paused, looking away for a moment. "Meow? … Did you just say _meow_?"

Sherlock suddenly became stock still, mouth tightly shut and eyes huge, refusing to meet John's.

John squinted down at Sherlock, trying to figure him out. "You don't… You don't actually think yourself as a cat… do you?"

Sherlock's icy blues fleetingly met John's, before hastily looking away again.

"You- You really do, don't you?!" spluttered John, clearly shocked.

Now composing himself and coming to a stand, Sherlock huffed. "Don't be ridiculous"

But John was getting to something.

"You're incredibly lazy during the day, terribly hyper at night. You like to curl up in your chair, basking in the afternoon sun. You constantly expect others to feed you. You keep yourself clean, but not your surroundings…I know what you are…"

"Say it," Sherlock murmured. "Say it. Out loud"

"You're a bloody cat! And – oh! OH! There's no cat stuck in the roof at night! Those meows were coming from you! _What in the _**world**_is wrong with you?!"_

Sherlock rolled his eyes and waved John away. "Completely fine. I simply like cats, hence I liken myself to one" Sherlock paused in thought for a moment. "We should get a cat"

John's eyes bulged out, nostrils flaring and his mouth was clamped shut tight, obviously restraining himself from blowing his head off. He honestly couldn't believe what he was hearing. This was so unlike Sherlock yet simultaneously it was… the situation was just so random! Though in retrospective, John was pretty much freaking out, and for a few minutes, resorted to an endless pacing around the living room. His thoughts were more centred on the costs of having Sherlock see a psychiatrist. _Sod a psychiatrist for the maniac who calls himself a consulting detective, _**I **_bloody need one! _But with that thought John suddenly stilled his pacing, realisation dawning on his face.

Sherlock, merely watching John the whole time, noticed the change in John's thought processes, and immediately knew what John had suddenly discerned. Silently, he braced himself. _Oh crumpets_…

"GO CHANGE YOUR SHEETS!" John finally bellowed, very much looking he could throttle the man standing before him.

_Damn it. _Sherlock growled in thought. _The crazy cat act didn't work._

Sensing no other means to escape from the dreadful duty now that his act was blown, Sherlock glowered darkly and made a scene of stomping to his room, slamming the door behind him, very much like a spoilt child.

"AND DON'T YOU THINK THAT I THINK THAT YOU THINK YOU'RE A BLOODY CAT! YOU'RE A PERFECTLY SANE HUMAN … BEING … HUMAN… Oh Jesus what the hell am I saying?! Sherlock sane? Nope. Just nope…"

Even with the door shut behind him, Sherlock could still hear John muttering furiously to himself. _Next time I should be careful. In trying to convince I'm crazy, John might end up the one with the mental issues._

Turning to his unmade bed, eyeing it as though it will strike out at him at any moment, Sherlock considered the task itself. It's not as though he didn't know how to – he just couldn't be _bothered!_

Sherlock moaned in frustration and flung himself to the bed.

~~ 2 hours later ~~

"Sher-" John knocked and open the detective's door to find an unexpected – _who am I kidding? This is exactly what Sherlock would do _– sight.

The detective had cocooned himself in sheets and doona and all. The only thing that can be seen of Sherlock was his dark head of curls peeping out from the top.

_At least he managed to take some of the sheets off. _John cleared his throat. "Sherlock"

He got a growl in response.

John sighed. "Could you please get out of there?"

Complying, Sherlock rolled out of his cocoon, slipping off the bed in the process and landing with a loud thud at John's feet.

"Very graceful", John remarked, quirking an eyebrow.

"Yes I'm certainly aware of what I have reduced myself to, John." A pause. "Are you going to help me now?" Sherlock gave his best puppy-dog eyes.

John's eyebrow rose higher.

"Please? I did some of it… I really did try"

It may be because Sherlock looked so adorable, almost like a confused puppy with his head cocked in question to the side, with his usually sharp blue eyes softened in pleading, because John suddenly smiled warmly at him.

"Yeah, of course"

And then to John's immense surprise, Sherlock had jumped up and embraced him tightly.

"Oh thank you John! You have no idea how pleased I am to hear that!"

"Oh. Um… you're welcome" John was flabbergasted as he gingerly patted Sherlock on the back. _Is this really the same cool and calculating detective I thought I knew?_

"Now, come on, lets get this 'tedious' task over with", John smirked, using Sherlock's dramatic wording as he pulled away.

Sherlock too smiled at John's choice of vocabulary.

"I have yet to make a Sherlock out of you"


	3. Sherlock's Surprise

**Hey guys, this story kinda relates to the last story… you'll see how. This one-shot contains Johnlock and a bit of fluff **** however, it's only in this story and may or may not prevail in the following one-shots – I just like to mix it up a bit! **

**So with that said… Enjoy!**

**Sherlock's Surprise**

Sherlock woke drowsily in the early hours of the morning to find the space next to him empty…and cold. Stretching his hand over the vacant sheet, Sherlock idly wondered where John had gone. He knew he shouldn't, but the consulting detective felt a small pang of sadness to John's absence. Before he knew it, however, Sherlock drifted back to sleep.

When Sherlock next awoke, it was to a strange, high-pitched noise. Kind of like a squeaky toy. Sherlock, still sleepy, groaned in annoyance. _I will find and destroy the source of that infuriating noise._

"Sherlock" murmured a warm voice, coaxing him out of sleep. _John_

…_No don't tell me John's making that noise! I wouldn't destroy him… but why is he making that god-awful sound?!_

Sherlock's must have mumbled his thoughts, because he soon heard a quiet laugh.

"Sherlock" John chuckled, "I'm not making that noise. Open your eyes and see for yourself." As encouragement, John softly ran his right hand through Sherlock's locks, thumb stroking the side his face.

"Mmm John…" Sherlock smiled, slowly opening his eyes. But as it turned out, John's face wasn't in Sherlock's immediate sight. No instead, it was a blurry flash of teeth stark white against pitch black fur – in addition to another earful of the insufferable high-pitched sound.

Sherlock nearly fell off the bed in his haste to get away from the awful encounter.

"John! What-?!"

John's smiling face popped up from behind the startling creature, "No need to be jumpy. It's only a kitten"

Sherlock blinked rapidly, willing the blurriness in his sight to disappear. His focus sharpened, and Sherlock found himself staring into the wide blue eyes of a fluffy black kitten. Then its mouth opened again to give another loud meow, and before he knew what he was doing, Sherlock clamped his fingers around the cat's mouth. The kitten protested in stifled mews.

"John, what is this creature doing in our bed?" Sherlock didn't remove his fingers.

"Don't do that to the kitten Sherlock," John lightly slapped his hand away. " And I thought I'd surprise you. Remember that time you said you liked cats? When you were trying to convince me you were crazy?" – a quirked eyebrow to emphasise the extremity of Sherlock's plan – "Well, I thought I'd get you a little morning surprise… or an early Christmas gift…I picked this little fella because it kind of looks like you." John blushed, then took to stroking the tiny kitten as a means to quieten its mews.

"Oh…well, it's um…" Sherlock briefly visited his mind palace for the appropriate word. "…cute. Thank you."

Sherlock leaned forward and clasping John's face, lightly brushed his lips against John's…

"MEOW"

Sherlock pulled away from the kiss to give the black fur ball a death glare.

"And what shall this-" Sherlock was tempted to say little shit "- kitten's name be?"

~~3 weeks later~~

"John!"

In the kitchen, John heard his name being called out and the thuds of Sherlock scrambling in the living room.

"John!"

"What Sherlock?!" John entered the living room and immediately started laughing.

"John! This little shit is attempting to bite my ankles! Make it – ouch! – stop!"

Sherlock was literally running around in his pyjamas, jumping from couch to couch, leaping over the table, and just jumping in general – all to keep the darting black ball of fur from clawing and biting his feet and ankles. This, however, further encouraged the hyper kitten, whose behaviour was quite frankly spastic, to seize Sherlock's feet. The fact that Sherlock was barefooted didn't help matters either, which left him scrambling around in search of shoes in addition to his jumps.

_Where are my shoes?! My socks?! My anything?! What on earth does this god-forsaken creature think my feet are? Furless rabbits? …Well surely not rabbits, my feet aren't that big… oh wait actually they are… how odd…and the right baby __**(baby?!)**__ toe seems to be forming a bruise. By the angle of it I can deduce – ouch! What was that? Oh yes, the dreadful kitten!_

Easing out of his chuckles, John pointed out, "The kitten's name is Leo, not little shit"

"No John! This kitten – ouch – is a little shit, therefore I shall call him little shit – ARGGGGHHHH!"

Sherlock had paused in one spot for too long – and with that, the kitten had taken its opportunity to dig its tiny claws around Sherlock's right ankle and bite down ferociously.

"JAWN! GET THIS THING OFF MY ANKLE BEFORE I KICK IT OUT THE WINDOW!"

Gritting his teeth in pain, trying to keep his screams of frustration and pain inside, Sherlock had his right foot lifted up, to loosen the crazed kitten's hold – but to no avail. It simply hung from his ankle, stubbornly clinging with its mouth and claws. Sherlock never felt so helplessly assaulted in his life by such a tiny creature.

"JAWWWNNN!"

Sherlock was utterly infuriated, piercing eyes blazing and honestly ready to fling the cat out of a two-story window. His expression was enough to send any ordinary man flee, but instead John resumed his giggling.

"At least you're not bored" John snickered.

"HAHA SO FUNNY JOHN! You have me in stitches – THIS LITTLE SHIT IS NOT LETTING GO – in fact I may need stitches Doctor!"

All of a sudden, the kitten started growling mid-bite.

Sherlock's face was now a mixture of fury and faux incredulity

"OH! SO YOU HAVE SOMETHING TO SAY TOO? PLEASE DON'T LET ME INTERUPT YOU! GROWL SOME MORE IN DISAPPROVAL! IT'S NOT LIKE YOUR LEG IS GETTING BITTEN OFF!"

_Better help Sherlock out…again. _John came forward and gently tried to pry the kitten away, but its growls grew louder at the contact.

"John" Sherlock's voice was quiet. John looked up to see the detective's eyes wide. "I fear I may never be the same man again" He said soberly.

Rolling his eyes, John sighed, "No need to be a drama queen." And with that last comment, and Sherlock's gaped mouth, John had unclasped the kitten's claws and unhinged its jaw, pulling it away gently and leaving Sherlock's slightly battered ankle free. _Finally_

"Stay here, I'll be back" John took the kitten away.

Sherlock collapsed on the sofa, relieved to be rid of the manic fur ball, and moved to examine his ankle. John came back with some disinfectant and cotton buds.

Kneeling to his knees in front of Sherlock, John quickly yet tenderly cleaned and disinfected his ankle. Sherlock hissed in pain but didn't say anything. After he was done, John sat next to Sherlock and held the somewhat traumatised man in his arms, placing soothing stokes to his curls.

They stayed quiet for a few moments.

"John"

John sighed, "I know, Sherlock"

The next day was Christmas and on the first day of Christmas…Molly received a cat.

…she called it Sherlock Junior.


End file.
